


Spinning Castles in the Sky

by cycling_lane



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Romance, Scottish Island, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-08-28 00:18:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8423350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cycling_lane/pseuds/cycling_lane
Summary: "Abigail," Billy said, his voice a strange, thick rumble. He frowned like he was trying to figure something out.Please, no, she thought desperately. Don’t let him realise I’m still in love with him."Abigail," he said again, and took a step closer. "I think it’s time we talked."   A modern-day AU, in which Abigail Ashe is a successful author who comes to the Scottish island of Nass’aurgh every year to write her newest novel. Includes meddling friends, an ice storm and a pesky writer’s block.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what happened. Honestly. One minute I was catching up on Black Sails whilst browsing through some travel brochures of the Scottish Isles, the next minute I was writing the outline for this little fic. I didn't dare to post it at first, but after quietly lurking around in this fandom for some time and seeing how friendly everyone is, I finally gathered my courage and decided to give it a go ;)
> 
> I don't own Black Sails or its characters. I do, however, own Nass'aurgh, as it is a figment of my imagination and doesn't actually exist. In this little universe, it's a small Scottish island where Abigail goes to write her best-selling novels. For those of you who don't know: the Scottish Isles are beautiful, well-known for their gorgeous but rough landscapes and horrendous weather. Google some pictures. It's breathtaking!

 

This wasn’t looking good. 

Abigail Ashe chewed on her lower lip and stared outside, where sleet was pouring down from the sky in heavy, threatening sheets.

It was just her luck. The weather had been fine when she woke up this morning; sunny and dry, but then grey clouds had formed and an ice-cold wind had blown in from the sea. By the time she had packed her suitcase and it became time for her to leave, a storm had been well on its way.

“I’m sorry,” Eleanor sighed on the other side of the line, “but it looks like they’re closing off the streets.”

Abigail pressed the phone closer to her ear. “And there’s no other way I can get into town?”

“In this weather?” The blonde woman snorted. “Hell no. And even if you did manage it somehow, there’s no way you would get off the island. The ferries stopped sailing half an hour ago.”

Great. Abigail bit back a heavy sigh. She originally had a meeting planned in London with her publisher for this evening, to talk about how she had missed the deadline of her fourth novel for the third time in a row, but that would have to be cancelled. Or be changed to a Skype-call, depending on how the internet connection held up in the storm. Max would be _thrilled_.

“Listen, Abigail, I’m sorry to make your day even worse, but…” Eleanor trailed off.

This couldn’t be good. “But what?”

“Billy is on his way to your cottage.”

Abigail’s spine stiffened almost painfully. “Wha- _Why_?”

“Because I asked him to drop by,” Eleanor said, as if that was a perfectly fine thing to do. “I know that this hermit-like reclusion of yours helps your writing mojo or whatever, but I don’t like the thought of you out there on your own. Not in this weather, at least. Billy agrees. He’s coming over to close your shutters, check your firewood… Make sure you won’t freeze to death.”

There were about a thousand things Abigail wanted to say to that, but eventually she settled for a rather petulant, “He doesn’t need to do that. I can manage on my own.”

Eleanor sighed. “And I thought _I_ was the feminist here. What the hell happened between you two, anyway? I thought you liked each other.”

Abigail swallowed hard, feeling a familiar knot tighten in her chest. She _had_ liked Billy. Four years ago, when she first came to Nass’aurgh –the small Scottish island where her father owned a long-forgotten, weather-beaten cottage- to finish her debut novel, she had been mad about him. Something about his impossibly tall frame and incredibly blue eyes had set her heart aflutter each time she saw him -which had been often. Billy was part of the tight group of friends that included Eleanor, and therefore by proxy, Abigail.

The blonde pub-owner had been the first person Abigail met upon her arrival, and despite their different personalities, the two of them had immediately hit it off. As her and Eleanor’s friendship grew closer, Abigail had seen more and more of Billy. After a while, she’d fancied herself in love. She’d even believed he shared her feelings.

Until that one night.

“Well, we don’t like each other,” Abigail answered curtly, clutching her phone so tightly that her knuckles turned white. “Not anymore.”

Thankfully Eleanor knew how to pick her battles and didn’t push for more information. “At least let him check everything?” She asked instead, her voice pleading. “You don’t have to talk to him if you don’t want to, but it will give me some peace of mind to know that you’re safe out there. It looks like this storm is going to be a heavy one.”

Abigail sighed. How could she say ‘no’ to that?

“Fine,” she mumbled.

“Thank God! He’ll be gone before you know it.”

That seemed unlikely. Abigail took another glance out of the window. The sleet was falling down even faster than before, freezing the moment it touched any surface –trees, grass, her muddy driveway…

Billy shouldn’t be on the roads right now, she thought. They were being closed off for a reason. By the time he was done at the cottage, they would be impassable.

She swallowed when realisation hit her.

Billy would be stuck here. With her. Until the storm cleared.

“Abigail? You still there?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” she said quickly, and cleared her throat. “I’ll keep an eye out for him.”

They said their goodbyes and hung up. As if summoned, Abigail saw Billy’s car make its way to the cottage mere seconds later. It was his yellow and blue police vehicle, which meant that he was still on duty.

She’d sat in the passenger seat of that car only once, during her last visit to Nass’aurgh a little over a year ago, but she still remembered it like it was yesterday. It had been night-time, and heavy drops of rain had drummed down on the roof in an even pattern. Safely sheltered away in the car, Abigail felt warmer and more protected than ever before as Billy drove her home after a night at Eleanor's pub. One of his hands had been on the steering wheel, but somewhere along the drive his other had moved to rest on her upper leg, where his thumb rubbed small, steady circles on the inside of her knee. 

Abigail shivered, just like she had then. She didn’t want to think about that night. She had outright refused to since the moment she’d abruptly left Nass’aurgh the next day, and she certainly wasn’t going to start now.

From the corner of her eye, she saw the car start to slip, threatening to spin before Billy stabilised it. The roads had to be mostly ice by now.

Her heart sped up, worried, even though she probably didn’t need to be. Billy was going slowly and seemed to have full control of the situation. At least, that’s what Abigail thought. When he tried to turn onto her driveway, the wheels lost traction and his car kept moving straight ahead at a snail’s pace, until it came to a slow stop against one of the trees that lined the road.

“Fantastic,” she muttered under her breath, and switched on the coffee maker.

Whether she wanted him here or not, the least she could do was offer Billy a hot beverage –especially now that he was going to have to walk from the road to the cottage. There was no way that he would be able to back up the car, not when he didn’t have any grip on the slippery ice.

She looked outside again. The car didn’t move, just like she’d predicted, but Billy hadn’t moved either. Surely he wouldn’t stay in the car? It was far too cold.

Abigail waited another few seconds, but nothing happened.

The accident hadn’t looked serious, but she could be wrong. He could be hurt.

Before she knew it, she had thrown on her new grey cashmere parka and opened the front door. A gust of icy air bit at her face. She ducked her head and tried to hurry to the car, irrationally worried that something might be wrong with Billy.

_Why wasn’t he getting out?_

The muddy driveway resembled more of an ice skating rink and so Abigail skidded more than she walked as she made her way to the road. The sleet was so heavy that she couldn’t see past the car windows. When she finally reached the vehicle, she stopped herself abruptly by slamming into it.

Immediately, Billy threw his door open.

“What are you doing?” He demanded furiously. “You’re going to break your neck out here!”

Abigail gasped in indignation. It was apparently the wrong thing to do, because even that slight bit of movement threw off her balance. She just barely caught herself from falling by clinging to the car’s wing mirror.

“I-I thought you were hurt!” She managed to get out, when she had recovered herself as best as she could. “You didn’t get out of the car!”

The sight of Billy’s familiar face –strong jaw, straight nose, an ever-present blonde stubble and short, rumpled hair- made her stomach somersault. Every time she saw him he looked even more gorgeous.

He surprised her by halting for a couple of seconds, almost as if her obvious worry had rattled him. “I, uh… I was just texting Eleanor to tell her that I had arrived.”

Yeah, right. Somehow Abigail didn’t believe that, but she didn’t dare calling him out on it.  

“Anyway,” Billy recovered, picking up the stern tone that he had used earlier. “You should go back inside before you freeze to death.”

“Only if you come with me.” The steel in her voice surprised her. Abigail Ashe was a lot of things, and she’d definitely learned to stand up for herself after the last time she’d been on Nass’aurgh, after he had hurt her so badly, but she had never been confident enough to order other people around.

Not until now, at least.

“Are you coming?” She persisted, her heart beating uncomfortably fast.

If Billy was equally surprised to witness her sudden development of a backbone, he didn’t show it. Instead, he simply got out of the car and slammed the door closed. He towered over her, his warm breath forming little clouds in the icy air.

“Here,” he said, and unwrapped his scarf from his neck. “Put this on. You shouldn’t have left the house dressed like that –it’s not nearly warm enough.”

It was like he had slapped her. Just like that, with those two small sentences and the off-handed way that he had uttered them, he'd blown away her short-lived bravery like it was nothing.

“I’m fine, thank you,” Abigail said thickly, and started to walk –or skate, really- back to the house.

She was horrified to feel tears burn in her eyes.

 _You should be over this by now!_ she scolded herself mentally. _He shouldn’t still be able to completely undo you! To make you feel so young and stupid and helpless._

Naturally, she _was_ young and stupid and helpless from time to time. Abigail couldn’t deny that. But not _all_ the time. Not as badly as she used to be.

Her walk down the driveway was unstable and clumsy, but she didn’t look back to see if Billy was following her. She didn’t want him to see the tears in her eyes.

She had almost made her way back to the cottage when one of her feet slipped on an extra perilous bit of ice and she lost her balance. This time there was no car to hold onto and she fell with an ungraceful ‘oomph’, wincing when she landed on her bottom. One of her ankles twisted beneath her on the way down.

Almost immediately, strong hands began to haul her up.

“C’mon, Abby," Billy muttered, when she protested. "Stop struggling.”

Abigail was about to crossly inform him that she didn’t need any help _(thank you very much)_  but he was a lot stronger than she was, and he had her up on her feet within seconds.

She cried out when her weight landed on her right foot. 

“What’s wrong?” He demanded instantly. He sounded more angry than concerned. “Did you hurt your ankle?”

“It’s fine. I just twisted it.” Abigail pulled herself out of his hold and took a step. It hurt. A lot. New tears burned in her eyes, this time from the pain.

He didn’t seem to notice them, thankfully. He was too preoccupied with slipping his arm around her waist, taking her weight off her ankle, and helping her cross the last couple of metres that separated them from the cottage. She didn’t have a choice but to walk with him.

“You should have worn different shoes,” he said, glaring down at her high-heeled ankle boots. “No wonder you sprained your ankle.”

“I only twisted it.”

Billy grumbled disbelievingly, but didn’t say anything.

Abigail bit her lower lip and willed the tears away. She hated the feeling of his strong body against her, the heady scent of his cologne in the air, the awareness of his hand on her hip. The warmth of his palm on her hip seemed to sear her flesh, even through her thick pair of jeans. She wanted to pull away. She probably would have, if she hadn’t realised that there was no way she would be able to hop to the cottage on her own.

They finally arrived at the front door, and Abigail let Billy lead her inside. As she sat down on one of the kitchen chairs, she tried to remember the last time she had felt this miserable.

Maybe when she had woken up that one morning to find him gone?

A sharp pain shot through her chest.

“I-I made coffee for you,” she said through chattering teeth, steering her mind away from the past.

“Maybe later,” Billy said. “Let me check that ankle first.”

He pulled a hand through his hair to shake out the worst of the sleet and then quickly got out of his heavy coat and hiking boots, leaving him in a pair of warm socks, worn jeans and a navy knitted jumper.

Abigail felt her throat grow dry. She remembered Eleanor telling her something about him getting promoted a couple of months ago, which obviously meant that he no longer had to wear his police uniform. It made her feel both relieved and miserable. The uniform had been incredibly sexy, but even his regular clothes made him look so attractive that she could barely stand to look at him.

Good God. She was pathetic.

“Do you have any ice packs?”

Billy didn’t wait for an answer; just set about opening the little freezing section in her fridge and peering inside. His enormous size made her cosy kitchen seem almost dwarfish.

Abigail folded her hands around the cup of tea that she had left abandoned on the table before her phone call with Eleanor, hoping to warm up her fingers. They had turned an angry red-purple colour and were stiff from the cold.

“There should be one in there,” she said, and immediately realised her error. She didn’t want him to take care of her. “You don’t have to do that, though. Honestly. I can manage on my own.”

Billy shrugged, but she didn’t miss the way his jaw clenched. “I don’t mind.”

“I thought that you were here to close my shutters and check the firewood,” she pointed out weakly.

“I’ll do that later. Now, get off your coat and shoes. You’ll catch your death if you stay in those wet clothes.”

Abigail didn’t know what to do. He had found the ice pack and sat down on the chair next to her, twisting his body to face her. His blue eyes made her breathing hitch.

After a couple of seconds of hesitation, she shrugged out of her coat and bent down to remove her shoes. She winced a little when her hand gazed the already swollen area of her ankle. Okay, so maybe it _was_ sprained.

Without a word, Billy raised her right foot so it rested on his lap.

He rubbed his hands together to warm them up as well as he could, then glanced at her apologetically. “This will probably hurt.”

Abigail blinked. She had gotten so used to his brisk tone that the unexpectedly warm look in his eyes completely floored her. “T-That’s all right.”

Billy put his hands on her foot. His fingers were rough, calloused from the sailing trips he liked to take whenever the weather allowed it, but his touch was gentle.

He prodded at her ankle carefully and worked in silence as Abigail focused on him, grimacing when something he did was particularly painful. He wasn’t studying her face, which allowed her to pay attention to his; to the concerned frown of his eyebrows to the start of his stubble, all the way down to where it ended halfway down his throat. Her eyes drifted even further down, to the little hollow above his breastbone and the V-shaped neckline of his jumper.

Her attention was drawn to the back of his neck, where a faint blush coloured his skin. Oh dear. Abigail felt her own cheeks flush. Had he noticed her staring?

When she looked back up at this face, Billy was entirely focused on her ankle.

“Definitely a sprain,” he told her several seconds later. “I’ll put the ice pack on and you’ll have to keep it elevated for the next couple of days.”

“I can’t,” Abigail said without thinking. “I’m going back to London tomorrow.”

She had given up her trust fund a couple of months ago, which meant (among other things) that she could no longer afford taxis to drive her around the city. She mostly took the underground nowadays. And that meant lots of walking and standing upright in moving carriages.

Billy stiffened noticeably. “Tomorrow,” he repeated, his voice sounding odd. “So soon?”

“Well, I was supposed to leave today, but the storm put a stop to that,” Abigail replied.

There had been tension in the air since they entered the cottage, but it had suddenly gotten a lot thicker. She didn’t know why. Surely he was only glad to see her leave his precious island? He had made it very clear in the past that he wanted nothing more to do with her.

“And what do you mean by ‘so soon?’” She continued, confused. “I’ve been on Nass’aurgh for over three months. I’ve never stayed this long before.”

Billy nodded, but the movement seemed jerky. “Right. Of course. Does that mean that your newest book is finished, then?”

Abigail flinched when he put the ice pack on her skin. She didn’t know how to answer that question. The truth was that she hadn’t written a single word of her new novel. She had spent her entire stay on the island staring at a blank Word-document.

But she could hardly tell him that, couldn’t she? Not when he was the cause of her writer’s block.

“Almost,” she lied eventually.

Billy nodded again and remained silent.

She suddenly realised that he was still holding her foot. His hands were warm and dry, and they felt _right_ on her skin. She didn’t get it. She had always known that he was gentle beneath his tough exterior. She had _seen_ the evidence of it.

He had been so careful, so tender even, when they kissed under the soft light by her front door, that evening when he had driven her home after a night in the pub. He had been eager and obviously more experienced than her, but he had also quickly realised that she was nervous. From that moment on, he had gone very slowly to make sure she didn’t feel out of her depth. As her confidence grew, his enthusiasm had as well –all the way to her bedroom.

Abigail just couldn’t understand. She didn’t get how Billy could have such a kind soul, how he could check up on her in the middle of an ice storm and take care of her throbbing ankle so gently, and yet still have shattered her heart a year ago.

Tears threatened to well up again.

She pulled her foot out of his grasp and swallowed thickly. “I’m going to take a shower.”

The warmth of the cottage had embraced her the second she’d come inside, but it hadn’t been strong enough to chase the chill from her bones. She noticed that she had begun to shiver.

Billy stood up with her, and she could feel his blue eyes search her face.

She hoped that he couldn’t see how emotional she had gotten, but that hope was quickly crushed when he reached out and softly rubbed away the lone tear she hadn’t realised had slipped from her eye. His fingers lingered on her cheek. The air around them grew thick with the scent of his cologne and something else –something that was so distinctly _him_ that Abigail feared she would break down right then and there.

She wasn’t strong enough for this. She had lied to herself when she’d thought that she was. It had been fine to see him in crowds these last three months, when they were surrounded by their friends, or she only saw him from across the street. She hadn’t minded that. But for him to be here, in her cottage, alone and during an ice storm…

That was completely different.

“Abigail,” he said, his voice a strange, thick rumble. He frowned like he was trying to figure something out.

 _Please, no,_ she thought desperately. _Don’t let him realise I’m still in love with him._

“Abigail,” he said again, and took a step closer. “I think it’s time we talked.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> So... There it is. My work out there for the entire world to see. I'm actually insanely nervous, so don't hesitate to leave a comment and tell me what you think! I'd be happy to post the other two chapters if people want to read them ;)
> 
> Have a lovely day/evening/night, everyone!


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